


A payment in flesh

by Kartaylir



Series: Black Codex: Files Not Found [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Human Furniture, Pre-Canon, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir
Summary: Before she joined Imperial Intelligence, the woman who would become Cipher Nine served one particular Sith. She was not let go without cost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, a private meeting.

The smoke of the room burns my eyes as it always has. It is perhaps fortunate for my appearance that they'll redden no further. Candlelight glints off statues decorated with gold and rubies, makes me lower my eyes, makes the patterns of shadows waver. Other corners of the room are filled with silk and velvet. With art of the Sith and all the dark creatures they've created. I've seen the painting of Terentateks before, but the polished statue of an ancient Leviathan is new.

But such things pale in comparison to the creature lying on the bed before me. A wavering mass of oily darkness with eyes as crimson as my own. A chained beast, a half-formed portion of leviathan, its flesh fused and bound to the true mistress here. For me, she leaves her scars uncovered. The marks where her skin gives way to the being of eyes, the old wounds on her face that are usually hidden by careful artistry with makeup.

That I see the truth of this is an honor, and yet it makes her no less of a predator. Toward me as much as any other.

"You've been away too long," she says. A tentacle reaches out from the creature she has bound to her side. It lays gentle caresses across my cheek, lingers its spade-shaped tip over my lips. One day I know it will devour me. Taste every hint of fear and memory I've held when she lets the darkness of the Force take away her last fragments of control. Then she will remember why I began to come to her.

Until then, the privacy of my thoughts is all I can cling to. All that is mine alone. 

Then the tentacle wraps itself around my neck. Her nails cut through the sheer cloth that drapes my back, slowly tearing fabric and skin open in turn. 

"Red has always been such a lovely color on you," she says. "Fitting apparel for a weapon." I hardly need think that it is not clothing she speaks of. 

"I am ever honored to please you, my Lord Azoi." Blood trickles down my back as the grasp on my neck tightens. I've been her doll long enough that I only gasp a little. It has been so long since I was her ally.

Memory is still chain enough to hold me here.

She leans closer, the rhythm of her breath uneven to my ears. "The other Councilors have noticed your work, have marked the fates of my enemies. They believe I've a new apprentice."

I tilt my head back until I can taste her lips. The flavor of honeyed memories is slowly suffocated under the oily taste of all she's become. Her grip loosens around my throat. Then there's a sharp tug on my lower lip, and my mouth opens as I nearly choke upon her, on tentacle and tongue alike.

She pulls her mouth away when my vision blurs. Smears the blood across my back and lays a kiss upon my forehead as she leans me into the bed. The tentacle shifts to cradle my head as she speaks. "Even Jadus has not guessed of you, my little shadow."

"I would not disappoint you with indiscretion." My tongue is still heavy with the taste of her.

"If only you could be my apprentice in truth. Mind and body freed by the Force to serve me."

There is nothing of use that I could say. I lean my head against her shoulder and remain silent. 

She seems to ponder this thought for a time. The room fills with the scent of melting wax as her nails lay smaller cuts across my back. I watch, waiting, worrying. It would not do to have her grow bored.

Finally, finally, she speaks again. "You're too quiet today. I would wring such noises from you, my pet."

The second of her tentacles has wrapped around my thigh and tugs until I turn toward her. Her nails drip with anticipation drawn from my blood, and the scars about my waist ache. The sensation that spreads downward as I take one more careful breath.

"Then give me such pain that I dare not dream of it," I say. Reticence would merely make me prey, and I would at least have pleasure with my suffering.

Her hand is swift; fast enough to splatter crimson across my side as she moves. Nails cut circles over my stomach, twirl the shapes out into uneven lines. Her other hand entwines in my hair, holds a braid of it as another leash. I could lose myself in the aura of her delight.

Perhaps I am already lost. Trapped from the first moment I entered this Empire.

The cut of nails between my legs is all the pleasure I am granted. The trickle of blood between folds of flesh as she presses me flat against the bed. Shadows turn the blood black, a thousand marks upon the blue of my skin. She could tear me to pieces here, cut me open and scar me once again for daring to bleed upon her covers. Snap my neck and let my life dissolve away, everything I am fading before her desire. Even now the sense of it is stronger than the pain.

Tentacles pull at the ruin of my thighs, tugging them ever more open. They seek inward to wrap around her hand and then delve even further. A slow burrow toward every hint of sensitivity. Her other hand brushes over my scalp, loosens countless strands of hair from their braids. I drown again on the taste of her lips.

I can feel sparks of lightning inside me, electricity building around her bloodied hand. I've seen the scars of such a thousand times. The Force turned into an ever branching pattern of energy.

"You scar so beautifully," she whispers.

My flesh has become merely that, merely meat. Wired through with nerves. With impulse. Reflex. My body burns beneath her, convulsing to pull every wound open once again. I can barely keep myself to moans rather than screams. All is aflame with the heat of her delight. The ceiling blurs as her fingers seek further inside, and I cannot stop myself from gasping.

Finally, everything falls still. The pace of my breathing grows even again, settles as she extracts her hand to run it over my stomach, across the gentle slope of my breasts. It is wet with more than blood.

"What a sight you are like this," she says. Her fingers stretch up further, now pushing my eyes toward closure. "If I could leave you in such a state...but oh I've a task for you still."

"Anything you wish." I am too weak now to toy with defiance. There is no use in tempting that I be further tamed. And I dare not look to see where the tentacles have gone.

"I would expect nothing less." There is a gentle rush of air as she moves her hand, a sudden rush of pressure that pushes me to unsteady feet. "Clean yourself up, then. I'd have you serve as decoration for my meeting with Darth Jadus."

My legs nearly betray me then, wobbling as I catch my balance. Traces of dried blood flake from my cheek as I nod, half-bow before her. "It will be done," I say, and then leave to seek the sting of Kolto over my wounds.

Such still leaves too much space for thought. If Jadus knows of me, then I am a peril to my mistress. And if he does not...well, there is little safety in machinations between the Sith. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Darth Jadus requires a certain standard of decor.

I'm allowed just a few hours to myself. Enough time to clean up quickly, to ensure every cut is sealed as best I can. Else they will tear themselves open again and again over the next several days. I have little faith that I will be granted such time in rest.

Or that I'll have any more time for caution.

Then, two of the Twi'lek slaves bring me strips of silken cloth, as black as her shadows that might have consumed me. That still might. I braid my hair back up again myself, pin it into place so not a single end hangs loose. The slaves wrap silk around my waist. Drape it across my shoulders. They do not look at me, and that is indication enough. As if Azoi would ever allow for a dull sort of decoration. I can only hope she is in no mood to see me burn.

They leave me a knife then, its size just small enough that I can hide it beneath the silk about my waist. I've hardly finished securing it when the slaves return. Now they bear candles of black and crimson wax. Each is set with a few letters in the Sith tongue, a language I pretend to know nothing of. Such is considered too far above me. Above an alien with no talent for the vaunted Force.

What little I can make out from the candles is only hints of some intent, of some ritual of sacrifice and power. Rather traditional for the Sith, but even without it I would have guessed of at least one death tonight.

With the candles brought, I am taken to one of the sitting rooms, to wait on my knees amid the shadows. They hold my arms out, flat and even, my back pressed against the wall. The drapery of cloth falls out from my limbs, the contrast of black on blue growing faint in the darkness. Every cut within my thigh stings. The faint weight of the candles as they're placed upon my arms and shoulders makes me ache in anticipation. But I dare not grit my teeth, dare not play at anything save delight in obedience. Who concerns themselves with letting their decorations rest?

The slaves, meanwhile, are bent over onto hands and knees, their lekku twitching though they do not look to each other. Their backs are tables to hold displays of fruit and delicacies. It is that food alone that ensures they're far enough away to keep wax from dripping on their limbs.

And so the room is ready. A display awaiting its mistress. Anticipating the dread form of her guest.

It is Azoi who enters first. Her dress is cut with slits of red, shaped to match the eyes that blink across her side. She sits in a chair of lacquered wood with her ankles crossed. Leans back in a semblance of ease. 

Only a semblance, though I know not if anyone else could tell. Perhaps I deceive myself in that. The leviathan eyes blink faster. Nails cut away the shine of the chair, leave a pattern of scratches akin to the wound on my skin. Wax has already started to melt from the candles, and it drips down from my arms, slowly etches the feeling of fire across my chest.

Unlike her Jadus never had true chains to break. I've always wondered if he, if so much of the Dark Council could truly understand the dread of those who know how easily they could forget to be free.

But he bears no shortage of fear with his entrance nonetheless. His steps echo, rebounding despite the softness of the carpet beneath them. His aura reeks of such dread. A deepening cold settles behind my teeth He does not look to Azoi at first, nor to the fruit and wine held on a slave's back. It seems he wears his mask even here. All expression hidden away behind dots of red and polished expanses of silver. I can see it all too well, for his gaze settles on the candelabra I have become.

"What an unusual find you are," he says. His hand stretches out to point toward my shoulder, and I can feel as wax begins to pool upon my skin. The sense of heat grows upon my arms, a wall of force holding it there as it barely begins to cool. It trickles down my arm, as if seeking to set my wrists alight. A moment more and it will overflow me to spill a sudden wave down upon my feet and legs. 

I do not move. He drops his hand to his side and gravity reasserts itself upon the wax. It drips upon the floor beneath me, upon my legs in smaller rivulets as cooled wax wears beneath it.

Then, he turns his attention to my mistress, my Azoi. And it is easy to be glad I am her pet rather than his. I've already survived her tests, lost what I must beneath the beauty of her.

Even so I am not considered worthy of knowing all of what they speak. They keep their conversation hushed even here. Slaves only have tongues if they're allowed to keep them, and perhaps that gives me more hope for this night than I should dare. I can make out a few of the whispers, read mood in the shifting eyes and swaying tentacles fused to my mistress. If my guess is right, she seeks an apprenticeship for her child. No surprise with the politics of the Sith. Heirs paid for in corpses made and favors granted, twisted into something that can survive.

The candles burn lower as the night stretches on. My arms begin to weaken, for I have not played such a role for some time. My instincts are trained to other paths. Azoi does not look at my failing, does not make a show of deigning to notice. But the weight on my arms lessens just enough.

That she would not allow such weakness before Jadus hardly means I am forgiven. Perhaps she will, perhaps...but such is another folly I pull my thoughts from. Those forged into Sith never truly forgive. Better to hope I'll only pay in blood.

Such is one thought I can cling to as time passes onward. All is half-heard words, the subtle movements of the slaves' lekku, the aches of my body compounding upon each other. The taste of fear in the room grows as well. I cannot tell if it emanates from the slaves or from myself. Then the conversation stills, and Azoi turns toward me. Her many eyes gape at the decoration of wax melted across my limbs, the fading flicker of the candles. If I'm to sleep tonight it will not come easily.

Jadus follows her gaze. The slaves beside me shiver at the weight of his unseen smile. They would rather blend in with the curvature of chairs and tables, the half-ignored textures of imported wood. With all the things here that cannot speak.

"My dearest weapon," Azoi says, "silence these others for me." 

I can still feel enough to have a twinge of fear at those words. Jadus is no foe I wish to challenge with myself announced. Then she motions to merely the slaves beside, before me. They are still. I cannot blame them for their sudden sense of betrayal. The Sith set such bitter challenges for their favor, and perhaps they had thought me their companion in death.

It is only in my dreams that I let myself truly think of betrayal, of my weapon turned toward the Sith in the darkness. The thought that I could mask my intent well enough. It would merely prove a slower way to die. 

Such logic still feels like pretense, delusion, of ignoring the slow way I find myself etched away. Azoi had had such hopes once. I dare not believe I am so strong to avoid being devoured by ambition as well.

Still I draw my knife and cut the throats of the other slaves as cleanly as I can. Jogan fruit falls to the floor, the pale lines disappearing beneath bruises and dripping wine. The candles fall from my shoulders as if to douse themselves in the pooling blood. My feet are damp, my vision blurring until all I can see are shadows. It is not enough to keep me from tasting the bitter reward of Azoi's delight.

She's adored—she's broken me so well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promise of a new role still requires some tribute to old loyalties.

I collapse into fitful dreams once the meeting is done. I know all too well that I'll need more kolto, more strength to finish healing my wounds, to restore my exhausted limbs. But in those first moments I've not the will to strip traces of blood and wax from my limbs. Sleep alone is all I can summon.

And only for a time. I awaken to see Azoi standing over me, all her crimson eyes alight with some sentiment I've not seen before. It is all I can do to freeze. Air trapped in my chest, my eyes wide and still blurred by sleep. She does not come to me.

Except she has.

"My prize," she says. "How beautiful Jadus found your suffering."

I do not speak, for what is there to say to that? The ways of the Sith are declared above me.

"He is taken with you. With what use you could bring to intelligence." Her smile shows every sharp edge to her teeth. There is the slick, cold touch of one of her tentacles, her tendrils across my exposed side.

Her words make my throat ache as if I'd swallowed ash. "He suspects me?"

"He'll pay for you." The softness of her breath in my ear. "So much in favor for your service."

I shiver. All the pieces are placed now, my skills the price for the apprenticeship of Azoi's heir. Or part of it, I can only be worth so much. There are many Chiss who serve the Empire now.

"I will do whatever you desire," I say. My voice seems too weak to my ears, for I know I cannot afford her disbelief. Again, I can only be worth so much.

The caress of her tentacle moves up toward my cheek. It is almost as gentle as her voice, and all of that prompts me toward fear. "Good," she says. "I would not deny him. Not when I've such proof you love me best."

With such the test is laid bare. This test, at least, for they never cease, never falter in all that is demanded of me. And yet a path is clear. Any doubts and she will retain me in her presence, hold me in her grasp until mind and memory are lost. Perhaps it would be better than servitude to Jadus himself, than soaking myself in the fear that ever surrounds him.

But not better than a place with Imperial Intelligence. They at least have some distance from the petty desires of the Sith, have bureaucracy as a defense against the anger of a day or hour.

So she'll have her proof of my affection, my love. Perhaps it's not even a lie to give it. To offer the remnants of all adoration I've held for her, of something grown as tattered as my pride. 

"Let me show how much I'll miss you," I hear myself say. Then I smile, and do not let myself hesitate. I lean in to kiss the roiling darkness fused onto her flesh.

As ever the taste of it threatens to stifle me. Oily and and almost charred, as if it were dusted with the ruined histories of her foes. I trace my tongue across it nonetheless, follow the grooves around the eyes, the indentations that once devoured traces of thought and memory. The eyes shift, tilting in a pattern I cannot watch at this distance. It almost seems as if they seek to smile.

But then, they could devour me easily. I find myself held closer, tentacles entwining their cold touch in my hair. The back of my ear caressed my her mouth as nails press against my back and thigh. I lean into their sharpness, let myself come back for air.

"You've no time to linger," she says. There's the faintest shiver against me; the the touch of her hands loosens. Tentacles tug my head down until her desire is simple enough to understand.

One more kiss upon her side and then I pull my hair back, wind the touch of my lips downward until I reach her scars. I dare not linger there, not when it might prove a reminder of far too much. I bury my head between her legs and do not think of air.

Far easier to think of her. The sharpness of her smile when first we'd met. Of crimson stains hidden by red robes, the coiling darkness in her still masked by such affection. Mornings when I'd made the pretense of being still asleep just to linger on the sight of her every curve stretched out before me, on the elegant lines of her hands. I'd slept so well then. At times I'd even thought this—thought her—a new home.

But I've no breath left to be bitter. One tentacle now holds my throat tight. As if I'd be fool enough to keep my tongue from delving deeper. Here, the taste of oil fades, and for a time all is sweet. 

I close my eyes and leave myself in shadow. The warmth of her skin against my cheek, the distant pain of nails tearing my scalp. The grip tightens further around my throat, and something cold and slick slides down past my breast. It lingers over the cuts still healing on my thighs and then reaches inward. And reaches further, pushing forward without care for me until half the tentacle is curled inside. It stretches, expanding until it feels as if I'll tear apart. I jerk my body just enough to slam into the vice that holds my throat. No twist of my hips is enough to grant release, only the constant ache of pressure within me.

My vision is too dark to blur, my tongue buried. I cannot move anything save my mouth lest I choke further. It will have to be enough.

I abandon all delicacy then, tasting every portion of her that I can reach. My body writhes around, beneath the tentacles, laid bare before her as I slowly starve of air.

It is in this that she truly takes her pleasure. I can half-hear her gasps as her legs clasp my head tight, drag my body with the movements of hers.

Only then does she release my throat, draws the other tentacle out enough that I can feel how wet I've become. Now, she would leave me wanting, fear too old a companion to win completely against the desires of my wounded flesh.

She slides from the bed and stands, and I look up to see her as my Azoi for the last time. My hair falls loose, dark strands clinging to my cheek and casting a different haze across my eyes. She brushes these away and lets her hand linger. A gentler touch lifts my chin.

"Do not earn your place with Jadus too well," she says. She shifts her dress back into its place, the fabric hardly showing a hint of strain.

I keep my eyes downcast. It is easier to keep my thoughts from wondering that way.

Then I hear the door slide shut behind her, and once again I can collapse. I've lost enough of breath and blood alike.


End file.
